


The Routine

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Rutherford Has Issues, Dark, Domestic Violence, Ellana Lavellan Has Issues Too, Established Relationship, F/M, Like very very dark, Night and Day split personality, Nightmares, Nothin about this is healthy, Physical Abuse, Tormented Cullen, UNHEALTHY I TELLS YA, Unhealthy Relationships, a bad one, what the fuck is wrong with ME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 20:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21379858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ellana Lavellan never had much routine growing up with her clan, never stayed in once place long enough to know what it felt like. Meeting and falling hard for Cullen Rutherford has changed that in all ways. Now she has a routine, it's just not a very nice one.Oh dear GOD please heed the warning and the tags, I am absolute trash.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	The Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, hello, I am trash of the highest degree and poor Cullen will never be allowed to be normal. Anyway, I had to get this out of my system before going to my nice, safe Cullen/Dorian fic in which Cullen is just a hairline fraction more stable than this.

**The Routine **

Cullen never slept well and, therefore, neither did Ellana Lavellan anymore. Sleep, she’d been taught from a young age, was to be taken when and where possible, not expected and not taken for granted. Sincere joining (_becoming_) the Inquisition, however, there had been a strange and unexpected _routine_ falling into place. Life in her clan had always been about change, moving on. Haven and then Skyhold offered a familiar bed, a place of stability. Sleeping in a bed at the same time every night had shown the elven mage that there were upsides to regularity, to _routine_. 

But Cullen had changed that. He’d changed everything, really.

It had been obvious right from the off. Even harangued and stressed, he’d been magnificent. His very _image_ took her breath away there and then, even though there simply hadn’t been time to consider anything. Something struck low and undeniable and every moment of downtime had been a battle of control _not_ to go speak to him in Haven, not to disturb him with inane, endless questions just so she could hear his voice, watch him as he awkwardly folded and unfolded his arms.

The Commander was a striking man, beautiful in a way Ellana hadn’t typically been drawn to before and she’d been taken with him so quickly. It wasn’t his fair features and soft voice that so held her attention, though.

It had been something intangible, back then. Something she hadn’t even realised until the first they spoke alone one night, quite by accident. His defences were down and the conversation between them was of an intimate nature. She came to realise that Cullen was _vulnerable. _He’d been tortured and twisted in his younger years, he’d seen terrible things, _endured_ terrible things. There was something fragile about him, despite all his strength, despite all his tactical knowledge and breath-taking bravery.

Cullen was broken and Ellana, right from the first, instinctively needed to protect him. When he was tired, when he was sad or in pain from lyrium withdrawals. He was hers to protect when they were alone. She would wrap herself around him, pressing her lips to every ache. He would bask in it, unused to such attention. When he did the same to her, kissing cuts and bruises, tracing patterns on her skin and mapping out each scar, learning her body… she knew she was gone. Absolutely lost to him.

Falling in love with him was too easy, too quick. Ellana wasn’t raised this way. She’d been taught to be guarded and careful especially with dangerous things like_ love_. Safety was better than happiness. But she’d fallen _hard_ and there was nothing to be done about it. He loved her too; she could feel it long before he said it. The way he looked at her, like he didn’t _dare_ to hope, but in weaker moments he couldn’t help himself. Everything she’d ever known was forever distorted, seen through a lens of her love for that man, _her_ Commander. And it was easy. Everything between them in the daylight hours was easy.

Night was… different.

Ellana stared up at the broken ceiling in Cullen’s room, the air frigid and cold. The hole was a constant point of ridicule for Cullen. Dorian and the others frequently teased the Commander about it and Josephine repeatedly offered to have it repaired. Cullen would chuckle awkwardly and rub the back of his neck, making excuses about limited resources.

He never told anyone the truth, that Ellana didn’t _want_ it repaired and since she spent every night in Skyhold with Cullen, he was happy to oblige. Ellana loved being able to see the sky, the air in her lungs tasting like _outside_. She didn’t feel the cold like he did. She didn’t shiver the way he did in winter months. The mountain air felt like some strange new offering in place of the home she’d never really had until Skyhold. It made her calm, gave her strength. If Cullen shivered, Ellana would draw the covers over him, tucking him beneath the warm woven material and _wait_.

She waited a long time, some nights, but it always happened.

Ellana learned early on that it was better to remain awake and prepared rather than wake up to his hands around her throat.

Anxiety tightened in her chest and she closed her eyes, levelling out her breathing to remain calm. It worked because she practised often. Breathing exercises helped; learning to distance herself from fear and that razor-sharp anticipation that, if unchecked, would make everything so much worse. She loved Cullen more than anything and it wasn’t his fault that he was _broken_.

Not during the day, when he was himself; awake and kind and awkward, shy and loving, faithful and so very devoted. During the day, she knew Cullen would have died for her without even thinking. Sometimes she worried about even the _concept_ of losing him to bravery and sacrifice because then what would her life be but an endless struggle not to follow. She’d been raised strong and untouchable but now Cullen was her world entire.

But every night, sleep took away _her_ Cullen leaving behind only the worst of his experiences and in the fever of pain and trauma… things often became muddled.

*

The first time it happened, he’d just hurt her, nothing else. It was so unexpected. In his bed with the man she loved, her staff wasn’t at hand and blind panic had taken her, fear disoriented her to the extent she wondered if she was actually in the Fade or not. She’d removed his hands from her throat with effort and pushed him away but the nightmare, or _whatever_ it was, didn’t break. He pursued her, attacked her with intent to kill. Hurting him back didn’t wake him. Pain was nothing new to this side of Cullen, if anything it further entrenched him in the trauma. Solidified his belief that she was an abomination, something to be fought and killed, _especially_ when she tried to use magic.

Ellana was strong and she could handle herself, but nothing had ever prepared her for this.

Cullen hurt her; physically beat her, all the while snarling terrible things that made no sense. Only when she stayed down after a particularly debilitating blow to her head, did he relent. He’d exhaled like he was relieved and went back to bed, muttering her name like a prayer. He fell asleep with her blood on his knuckles.

That first night was really the worst, even though much worse nights would come, because Ellana didn’t understand back then, all those months ago. She hadn’t learned yet that it _wasn__’t_ Cullen, that he couldn’t tell the difference between reality and his tortured, wrecked mind at night and so she’d cried, heartbroken and unable to reconcile any of what had happened.

She’d cried until morning, unable to leave because if she had, no one would ever have let her return. Dorian, she knew, would _never_ let her go back to him and though there was something sick and weak in it, Ellana knew she couldn’t live without Cullen. She loved him too much, _far_ too much.

When the sun had risen, Cullen awoke automatically. He was a solider and old instincts never died. Ellana had watched him rise, his expression soft and _rested_. He cast about for her, a sweet little frown in place as he wondered where she’d gone and from her shadowy corner, Ellana realised he didn’t remember.

He didn’t remember it even when his gaze landed on her, when he slowly looked down at his own hands, marked with her dried blood. He didn’t remember because it hadn’t been _him_.

It had come close, that first morning, to ending. There wasn’t a word for how distraught Cullen was when Ellana shakily told him what had happened. She’d never seen someone so lost to self-hatred and horror. Nothing she said reassured him, barely even reached him.

He couldn’t forgive himself. He _despised_ himself for hurting her and she couldn’t bear it. Cullen was everything, he was _hers. _After cleaning her up, something he insisted upon so that he could bear witness to the full extent of how much he’d really hurt her, Ellana calmed enough that she was able to use her magic to heal herself. Not all the way, that would require potions and possibly a visit to Solas for the cracked ribs, but enough that it wasn’t _immediately_ obvious what had happened.

Cullen had told her there and then that things between them had to end. He couldn’t risk hurting her like that ever again. Ellana forbid it, _forbid_ him from even entertaining the idea of ending things. She’d never loved anything like she loved him, didn’t he understand that? The more she cried and pleaded, the more determined he became to end things, even as he himself cried.

It took three agonising, monstrously lonely weeks to change his mind. She broke him down, wore his resolve away. She built him back up again, building herself with it. She created a foundation of belief that it had only been because of a nightmare. Just that one bad experience couldn’t, _mustn’t_, come between what they had.

Only Solas knew. He’d healed her ribs with nothing but a small, concerned frown. Ellana trusted him and knew without having to ask that he wouldn’t tell anyone. If he noticed her efforts to become close to Cullen again in the weeks following, he kept his opinion to himself.

Three weeks and Cullen broke down, admitted that she was right, he cared for her too much to let her go but… he couldn’t do that to her again. It would kill him - he would kill _himself_ if he ever hurt her like that, even once. She promised him he wouldn’t, that she would protect herself and wake him using magic if it even _started_ to happen, she could look after herself.

But when it _did _happen again, her attempts to use magic resulted in him dropping a thundering Holy Smite. Her magic was rendered useless and absent. It happened the same as last time, he only relented when she was on the floor, still and quiet, bleeding and cracked. He went back to bed again, her name on his lips.

This time Ellana fled the room. She waited for the Smite to ebb, she took Elfroot and Lyrium potions and she healed herself to the absolute best of her abilities. She wiped away the blood, she changed her clothes. It had to be hidden, he had to be protected.

When he woke up the next morning, she was in his bed, cuddled around him. The first thing he did was check on her. Almost frantically, he ran his hands over her like he didn’t trust her to be honest somehow. His smile… Creators, his _smile_ when he saw that she wasn’t hurt, it was worth everything.

_‘See?’ _she’d said, kissing him softly, hoping he didn’t taste the Lyrium. _‘You’d never hurt me, love.’_

They didn’t discuss that he _had_ hurt her, both that first time and again the night before. He remained unaware of the second time and that was all that mattered.

*

Ellana’s breath curled into the cold air of Cullen’s room, of _their_ room. It wouldn’t be long now, she hoped. It was always better when it happened earlier in the night, it gave her more time to heal and _actually_ sleep. She glanced over at him, noting the rapid eye movements of her Commander, the way his body began to tense up.

Yes, good. It would be nice to sleep a little longer than usual.

Sometimes Dorian would point out that she alone seemed _more_ rested when they travelled across together, sleeping in tents and battling dragons. Dorian always noticed too much and really, it almost killed Ellana keeping this from him. She loved Dorian and wished she could confide in him, but he would only seek to protect her and remove her from where she needed to be.

Cullen began to make those little sounds of distress. Ellana sat up, swinging her legs off the side of his bed. She stripped off her clothes quickly, laying them across his chest on the other side of the room, carefully avoiding the _hole_ in the floor. Now the cold was uncomfortable, even to her, but it was easier than having to change her bedclothes. She didn’t want him to notice anything and by now, this routine was almost perfected.

She wondered if tonight would be a _muddled_ night.

_It doesn__’t matter_, she told herself, slowing her breathing. _If it is, it doesn__’t matter. _

Naked, skin prickling all over, she made herself go to the bed and sit at the foot of it. This was the easiest way, by far. Trial and error had constructed this routine and Ellana might have been strangely proud of herself, were things different.

Only once had Cullen come close to realising what she was doing and it was the night she’d _stupidly_ decided to try just leaving him alone with his nightmares. Going down the ladder and hiding below while he struggled and endured alone. This was the first time Ellana realised how badly afflicted Cullen truly was. Without her there to focus on, his violence turned inward in the form of memories. Cullen screamed and pleaded, begged to die, begged to spare Ellana. When he fell out of bed, he’d actually awoken. She’d listened at the foot of the ladder, forehead pressed into the wood, as he breathed fast, whispering her name with such concern that it broke her heart. When she went back up to him, he asked where had she been? He hadn’t hurt her, had he? She was happy to be honest and tell him _no, of course not love. Just had to relieve myself. You wouldn’t hurt me, you never do. _

When he’d held her close, body trembling violently, he told her that lately, he hadn’t actually been having any nightmares, this was the first in a while. Ellana realised there wasn’t any way out. With her to focus on, his mind achieved some kind of monstrous closure. He slept better than he had in years, he had the strength to resist the allure of Lyrium. She accepted it, then. It didn’t diminish her love for him and maybe that ought to have signalled that something was very wrong with her, perhaps even more so than Cullen, but it didn’t matter. She loved him, that was what mattered. He was hers to protect, always.

Now, her skin _crawled_ with dread and anticipation as Cullen startled awake, but not really awake, not truly present. His eyes were wild and glassy, chest heaving.

‘Cullen,’ she said to draw his attention. Better to get it over with quickly.

His gaze landed on her and the familiar snarl twisted his scarred lip. She was numb with cold, numb by design. He scrambled across the bed and she didn’t put up any kind of fight at first. She had to see what _kind_ of night it would be first.

The first blow was the worst, why was the first of _everything_ the worst? He was a soldier, a warrior. He knew how to land a blow. That first backhander hurt so much she wanted to cry, but crying was dangerous sometimes. The blow knocked her sideways off the bed, but she was quick to get up and away from the hole, heading towards the corner without furniture that could be broken, the area that was easier to clean up.

_‘Demon_,’ he growled, panting as he followed her. ‘Think… _dare_… her shape!’

That fact that he acknowledged her like this meant tonight would be a _muddled_ night. Ellana tried to control the burst of panic, despite knowing it had been a possibility. It would be fine; everything would be fine. Breathe, follow the routine.

Cullen struck her over and over. He was furious, he usually was. A muddled night meant it was better to fight him, although she hated it. She didn’t use her magic, couldn’t risk him dropping a Holy Smite which would prevent her from healing herself and cleaning up the mess later. She fought him with her hands and feet, but it was futile in the extreme. Cullen was so much stronger than she was and even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t about fighting to get free. It was about speeding things along. Making him that much angrier that whatever dared to take her shape, as he thought of it, would then _dare_ to fight back.

Ellana felt her jaw crack on the last punch. It was a repeated injury by now and it never quite healed right. That blow did what he intended, took the last of the _fight_ from her. When his hand tangled in her hair, she closed her eyes, stomach swooping low even though she’d _known_ it would be this way tonight.

He dragged her over to the bed, breathing raggedly. At least she was naked, it was easier than having him rip her clothes to shreds. Trial and error.

When he threw her down, he was atop her before she could even bounce. One hand pressed against her throat, making it hard to breathe.

Ellana didn’t know everything that happened in Kinloch Hold, but she knew enough. Cullen had been made to do terrible things by blood mages, his mind taken and twisted as his body committed atrocities. She knew he’d been made to… _hurt_ his fellow Templars.

‘Think to…’ he gasped, hand tightening around her throat as he nudged her legs open, his other hand working to free himself. ‘Trick me… find… can’t… _perfect_!’

It never made sense, Ellana didn’t want it to make sense.

He shoved his way into her, that initial sting made all the worse by the brutality of it. Once fully sheathed inside her, Cullen’s whole face crumpled like he might cry. Sometimes he did.

He began to fuck her, pinning her down until the room swam dangerously. She struggled to stay conscious, couldn’t even contemplate the consequences of falling asleep and having him wake before her. She struggled to loosen his hand around her throat but he hit her across the face, a stinging slap that made yellow light flash behind her eyes, setting her already bloody and bruised face aflame. Her options were becoming limited and when his other hand came up to press and squeeze even harder with the other, she panicked and did something stupid.

She used magic.

It was only small, just a weak burst of Mind Blast but she immediately regretted it. His eyes flashed, the darkness in them intensifying as his fury turned blended horribly with fear. He withdrew both hands not giving her time to do more than gasp and choke, lungs spasming, before he dropped the Holy Smite _hard. _It hit Ellana like an over-sized maul, draining all of her mana, ringing in her ears as she was cut off from her magic, from the Fade. Now if he choked her unconscious, there was _nothing_ she could do to prevent it.

She couldn’t help it when she cried. There was nothing left to keep it inside. When he bent over her and dragged his tongue across her cheek, chasing the tears, she had to fight not to scream. She wished _her_ Cullen was there, wished he would save her.

But by some mercy, the end came quickly. Maybe it was seeing her cry that sated the monster, her despair pushing him over the edge as he slammed home hard, spilling inside her with a bitten off groan, the loudest noise he’d made all night.

Ellana never looked at him when he came. She didn’t want to see his face. The fragile boundaries she erected to distance _her_ Cullen from this… thing, had to be respected.

When he wrenched her face to his and kissed her, the boundary trembled as though under siege. He very rarely kissed her. It was just another example of how severely muddled things were for Cullen.

‘Don’t tell her,’ he choked, barely a whisper. ‘Let this be enough.’

She didn’t move when he withdrew from her and rolled over, exhaling slow and deep. ‘Ellana,’ he said a few times, not calling out to her, but just speaking the name because, to him, it meant something else. The Chant of Light, readjusted. His faith made anew. When his breathing deepened and slowed, certain he was asleep, Ellana let herself move. She let herself come back to life.

It had been a good night, really. Nothing in the room was broken, at least. Wincing, she forced herself to sit up. Her ribs felt well enough and nothing besides her jaw was likely broken or cracked. Hyperventilation tried to rise up and strangle away her enforced calm but she didn’t let it. She kept that panic and horror firmly away like she always did, trapped beneath a cage of her love and devotion.

The room was freezing. She pulled the covers high over Cullen first and made sure he was warm before she fixed everything.

*

Waking was her favourite part of the day. Each morning Cullen would awake and check on her. No matter how much time passed, he never trusted himself to not have hurt her somehow. Only when he was satisfied that she was fine, would he kiss her slow and gentle until she pretended to emerge from sleep.

That morning when he kissed her, she’d already been awake but it still _felt_ like waking, like stepping into another world of sun and happiness and such love that it took her breath away.

She smiled against his lips, curling her arms around his neck. She traced her fingers over where there had been bruises and shallow claw marks last night, all freshly healed now. He didn’t notice he’d been healed or cleaned; he never did.

‘Morning, my love,’ he murmured.

Sometimes Ellana felt a mad urge to tell Cullen about the monster that had hurt her. She wanted, more than anything, to be held while she could cry and tell him and just have him _know_ what she was going through night after night, month after month. She imagined that Cullen would protect her, would banish and kill this thing for her, except that was indeed madness because…

‘Ahh,’ she winced, thoughtlessly.

He drew back, frowning. ‘What is it?’

Her jaw still hurt. The bone was not fully healed enough to kiss him without discomfort yet. Ellana cursed herself for the slip and how it affected him, how quickly he became suspicious.

‘Hmm,’ she said, tipping her head, making it seem like she was considering the source of the pain. ‘I’m not sure. Might be that cracked tooth again, it’s never healed right, you know. Sodding dragon’s tail came out of nowhere.’

His gaze was intense, resting partially atop her as he was and she could feel the scrutiny. His thumb gently moved over her jaw, the side he’d hit and she wondered if he actually remembered anything, even if he thought it was a dream.

‘Have Solas examine it,’ he suggested, his concern evident. ‘It’s been hurting you for a while now.’

‘I will,’ she said, carding her hands through his hair, relieved. ‘It only twinges.’

Satisfied at last, he kissed her nose, avoiding the injured area. Ellana couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved, and then immediately guilty, that at least this morning she had a built-in excuse to forestall any intimacy, should he have wanted it. She just needed a little while longer to heal, then she would welcome him with open arms, seek him out most likely while he was busy at his desk later that day and tempt him away from his work. She liked it when they made love on his desk, _anywhere_ but upstairs.

He asked, ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘I did. You?’

He smiled, a faint look of wonder in his expression. ‘With you, always.’

*


End file.
